


I need a doctor (working title) (WIP)

by Revontuli



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:23:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revontuli/pseuds/Revontuli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John (who is miraculously working in a hospital in this story) has to take care of a sick Sherlock and it brings him to his limits, because also a former military doctor can only take that much. Sounds like crack but actually it isn't. Slashy slash may ensue sooner or later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I need a doctor (working title) (WIP)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first BBC Sherlock fic and my first overall fic in a loooong time, so please be kind. As I am a very isolated fan and not really involved into fandom (i.e. I have no friends, haha), it is UNBETA'd and of course not britpicked as well. I just went for it and wrote, not being a native speaker, fyi. If someone wants to volunteer to do the mentioned, I'd be delighted. ;)
> 
> Not sure if a disclaimer is needed here, but of course I don't own anything, not making money with anything related to my writing here and it is all a big lie.
> 
> PS: feedback of any sort is highly appreciated :)

In retrospect John has not the slightest idea how he could have missed it for so long. How he could have just NOT seen that there is a pattern, that this many accidents in a row are simply not possible. Not even for Sherlock and his dangerous lifestyle. The moment it hits him, his hands are buried wrist-deep inside a comatose Sherlock, he’s swearing, desperately looking for the appendix. Whilst cursing Sherlock for the utter stupidity, the danger he put himself in, he was not very fond of the thought of losing his best friend under his hands right now. He has no idea how Sherlock managed to bring this on himself, but John had no doubt this was self-inflicted.

John has worked as a doctor in scenarios far worse than this. Or at least they should have felt much worse. Only that they didn’t right about now. The thoughts in his heads were racing and he barely could pull it together to take out the appendix and finally stitch the unconscious consulting detective up. He pondered a short while over the thought of the stitches – intracutaneous or the classical method, but in the end he had mercy on the man and went for the less scarring one. 

When Sherlock awoke a couple of hours later, John was sitting by his bedside, trying to focus on the Sudoku on his lap. He startled when suddenly a pale, shaky hand touched his elbow. “John…”. Sherlock’s voice was hoarse. Anger rose in John’s chest but he tried to battle it down and he lifted his head to meet Sherlock’s gaze. His usually so pinning eyes were drowsy and matt, eyelids barely opened.  
“Sherlock.” John gulped. He did not want to make a scene. Not here at the hospital. Not now. As angry as he was, as confused - he still cared for his friend and he was obviously in pain. “Shh. Don’t talk. You have to rest. You have just gotten your appendix removed. Are you in pain?” Sherlock’s eyes closed again and his face relaxed, it looked like a smile was forming around his lips. Certainly must be the after-effect of the narcotics. “It’s okay. Just, sleep. I’ll stay here, if you need anything.” John said. “So. It worked. Good.” Sherlock mumbled before he drifted off again. 

The next morning John had a shift in the surgery early and he was glad about it. It meant he had no time to sit by his obviously insane friend. What kind of fucked up experiment he was pursuing this time, making himself sick, seriously ill, endangering his life. John did not really want to know. He just wanted Sherlock to get well soon and talk to him about it. A serious talk. Because he, as a friend and as a doctor could not tolerate this kind of behavior. If he had any questions about human anatomy, why experiment on himself rather than asking John? It was sheer and utter lunacy.  
In his lunch break he goes up to the 3rd floor to visit Sherlock. He felt bad about it, his lack of consequence. But he knows not going to look if everything’s alright with his flatmate would make him feel even worse. Having his lunch packed up into a box, he hurries for the elevator. The door’s just about to close, John starts walking faster. He sees the tip of an umbrella blocking the light barrier to prevent the door from closing. “Hello John. Already wondered what took you so long.” Mycroft smiles his sly smile at him. 

Before John was able to think of an answer that included the fact that he had a job aside from babysitting Sherlock, Mycroft waved him goodbye and left the elevator. “Yes. Have a nice day, you too.” When he arrived at Sherlock’s room, said was sitting up in bed, his hospital robe tucked under his armpits so he had a good view on his scar. What John instantly noticed although was that Sherlock wasn’t wearing anything under the robe and the blanket was shoved so far down, a few black curls caught his eye. He blushed and lowered his gaze. Then he cleared his throat. 

“Oh, hello John. Good to see you. The scar is healing rather nicely. You did a good job.” John took a step towards his friend in order to get a better look at the scar, trying to avoid looking down further. “Yes, Sherlock. It looks rather good. Still you should not touch the scar. Why is it not covered anyway?” he asked, trying to sound strict, but the sight of Sherlock’s tight chest, his pale, even skin made him a strange way of nervous. “I ripped the bandage off, no one here would do it for me, I asked the nurses, quite a few times actually.” John sighed. Of course. What else had he expected? 

“Lie back now, will you? I am going to check on it,” he said. Sherlock obeyed immediately and stretched out on the sheets. John had to swallow. Even with the still nasty looking scar on his stomach, he was nothing but pure beauty. He had accepted the fact that he secretly had a bit on a crush on his flatmate long ago. But being forced to look at him exposed and rather helpless under his hands was new. And definitely a lot more difficult to deal with. Luckily during the surgery he was too high on adrenaline to realize how CLOSE he was to his friend. Shoving these thoughts away, John focused on the wound.

It in fact was healing properly, John took some time to admire his work. The stitches had turned out really well, the scar would be practically invisible in a few months. He could feel Sherlock’s gaze on the back of his head, the thought of a practically naked Sherlock watching him intensely send shivers down his spine. He lifted his head and turned away, walking over to the cupboard to get some rubber gloves out. “I need to check the swelling around the wound, might sting a bit, hold still.” He said, again trying to sound more calm than he actually was. 

He softly touched the corners of the wound, where the stitches had been made. The skin was hot and tender under his fingertips and he caught himself stroking over Sherlock’s sticking out hipbone as if to soothe him. It was strangely intimate and John had a hard time avoiding looking down further. The sight of Sherlock’s cock would definitely make the situation even more awkward. John applied a little pressure to the wound, which made Sherlock gasp and turn sideways slightly. The sudden motion caused the bed-sheet to slip down further his thighs and John began feeling dizzy when he saw that Sherlock’s cock was half-hard.  
He looked away quickly, avoiding Sherlock’s eyes and getting rid of the gloves. “Alright, uhm. Seems like the wound is, ahm, fine, yes. I’ll have someone come over to cover it up again ‘though,” John stuttered. His head was spinning. He still did not dare looking Sherlock in the eyes, who was still lying there like John left him, exposed and… hard. “Cover yourself up, will you?” he suddenly burst out. Sherlock scrambled with the sheets and John finally turned around to meet his eyes again. “I worry about you, Sherlock. Seriously. When you get home in a couple of days, we need to talk about… well, what you are up to lately.” – and probably your erection – “…because I think you are not quite taking this seriously. You could have died and you are still not fit. Just. Behave for once. I have to go now.” And with that he stormed out of the room. 

On the way to the elevator, John dumped his lunch packet into the garbage bin and wished for a glass of whiskey instead. Luckily he still had a couple of minor surgeries to perform in the afternoon to take his mind of this strange encounter. After work he went home straight, without checking in on Sherlock again. He ate the leftovers from the probably half a week old Chinese take-out and flushed them down with a couple of beers. After two and a half hours staring blindly at the telly, he went to bed. While wanking he tried very hard not to think of Sherlock’s cock.

End of Chapter One.


End file.
